


Mediterranian

by Lindwurm



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindwurm/pseuds/Lindwurm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moureau offered Eliot a job but it seems to be more to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mediterranian

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2011, inspired by this photo: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lqlh7cPum71qi9lm3o1_500.jpg  
> It's my first attempt to translate something in english, so please forgive mistakes in advance )

They spend two months on the Mediterranian. Malta, Greece, Cyprus, Egypt, Morocco, Algeria...

Moreau swaps five-star hotels as he changes his mood. He sends all girls away saying he wants a break, and these two months really could be one of them, if not for the numerous appointments he's having.

Eliot is due to every one. 

It goes without saying that he is head of Moreau's security team now. Eliot considers himself unfitted as he doesn't have the nesessary training nor the qualification. He simply does his job well. But Moreau apparently thinks that's enough.

Also Moreau comes dangerously close to make Eliot his trusted man, too. Eliot hasn't made a single step in this direction, but he couldn't remain unaffected in face of his employer's keen forethought. Eliot's threatening features leave no space for Moreau's business partners to guess his sharp intelligence and tenacious memory.

Sometimes he notices things that escape Moreau's sight.

Sometimes Moreau never finds out.

Generally Eliot does nothing but observe. There is no imminent threat nor shall be one in the future, the guards run like clockwork thanks to Chapman, the guy is an exellent executive. So Eliot goes to the gym, sunbaths near the swimming pool, sips cold beer and once it strikes him that he'd lost track of time.

Moreau insists that it's okay, that everybody must relax once in a while.

"Spenser, you're tense as a spring," says he one day. "Always so tight, it must be bad for your health."

"That's my job," replies Eliot. He doesn't want to argue with Moreau, but he can't comply either.

"Could you at least _appear_ not so tense?" offers Moreau. "You're so frozen up, they'll gonna freak out at the very sight."

Eliot shrugges. He doesn't see a problem here, but business is business, Moreau knows better.

 

*  
...the healthiness of etesian climate slightly changes Moreau. Apparently he feels more comfortable here than anywhere else. Or he _does_ arrange himself a vacation - as he knows it. Moreau seems gentler, as if he takes down his mask and shows the world features of the man he was once in his youth. Or never.

This new Damien Moreau has more charm than the other. He talks freely, jokes more often, although some of the jokes are lame. But he does have a very catching, genuine laughter.

Moreau the mean moneymaker does not go away, sure, but this new disguise is so good, Eliot has to wonder: why not close all deals at the sea?

 

*  
"There we go," Moreau rearranges the collar of Eliot's shirt and steps backwards. Then he looks up and smiles. "Now you fit in nicely."

Eliot doesn't feel much fitting in anywhere, so he first stills and then gets angry, as he always does. 

"What's wrong with the t-shirts," he grumbles. 

Moreau looks at him as if they were talking about something else entirely. 

"Spenser, my friend, don't make me lecture you on fashion and social structures. Just take my word for yours favorite t-shirts being bad for my business."

Eliot moves his shoulders, trying to accomodate. If he had to unbutton the collar of his shirt for Moreau's image's wellbeing... well, it's not so bad. And you never know what'll may come in handy.

Moreau chuckles with content and goes for another whiskey.

It's strange that only near the sea his eyes regain their naturally blue color.

 

*  
In the evening Moreau moves by too close, his knuckles brush Eliot's shoulder. Eliot remains unaffected, although it can't be simply coinsidense, not for the second time a day.  
Not until Moreau climbs out of the swimming pool and stretches on the next loungechair, Eliot speaks: "You used to have no problem with my private space."

Moreau raises an eyebrow. His smile is almoust shy.

"This really has to be a problem?"

He's still breathing heavily after the swim, waterdrops shining on his tanned skin.

"I do not mess up my job with privacy, Moreau."

"Damien," corrects him Moreau. 

Eliot looks to the horison, the sun setting behind low mountains. The waves are rolling softly under the porch.

"And I was always an exception, wasn't I?" says Moreau at last.

It sounds so strange, it sounds almoust like a _plea_ \- something closest to a plea that Damien Moreau could ever say. Eliot didn't see it coming. He is not ready to play on the fair field, if that's what Moreau is offering him, at least in this one interaction area.

Is this a huge credit of trust or some clever manipulation? Eliot cannot decide. Not here, not now. Maybe even never, considering Moreau's nature. 

But he feels like the tight coils are unrolling slowly. Is it the sea breeze to blame or the mediterranian sun or Moreau smiling gently and almost genuinely? Maybe it makes no difference. Anyway, why should it matter?

Eliot sends Moreau a heavy measuring look, and Moreau lets him, almoust exposes himself. Smug bastard, as always.

"You are indeed an exception," slowly says Eliot. And adds, "Damien."

Moreau smiles widely.

The deal is closed.

It is only well after that Eliot realizes this moment changes everything.


End file.
